


His Boys

by BumbleBooty



Series: Commissions [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Age Play, Age Play- Caregivers, Age Play- Littles, Feeding, Hand Feeding, Medically Recommended Care, Mental Instability, Non-Sexual Age Play, Thumb-sucking, autistic traits, bottle feeding, family-based relationships, lack of parental guidance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14915891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleBooty/pseuds/BumbleBooty
Summary: Kup goes to pick up his newest boys.





	His Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for a friend of mine! Hope you enjoy!

When the war ended, life had returned to some semblance of normalcy. Most mecha either went to jail for continuing the killing or moved on and tried to make the best with the cross-faction alliance that allowed them to rebuild Cybertron.  

For the good of some, the Caretaker program was re-established. Mecha with social inhibitions were admitted to the system, and given to Caregivers that could identify and help maintain a better mental state- given to those that could understand them, and help them stay out of prison.  

Kup took a long drag of his Cygar, leaning back against the far wall of the elevator as his optics trailed over the medical file he was given by the newly-appointed medical board. As one of the oldest remaining Cybertronians, he was fully experienced with Caregiving. It was the pride of his life helping mecha back into a good mental position, and he had completed the task with so very many younglings before.  

One thing he hated though, was the poor excuse of an ' OMPO- Official Medical Personality Overview'. Also known as the information inside the large manila folder.  

It never truly described the problems his children faced, and he  _knew_ the compilation file Ratchet would give him from previous caretakers would contain far more useful knowledge. More often than not, the 'official' file omitted the most important parts- Their likes, their dislikes, their smaller triggers that would build until an outburst was imminent, even the ways to diffuse problems  _before_  they started.

He still read them dutifully though, as it  _did_  tell him who was more likely to lash out physically, and who was more likely to hide away and harm themselves. 

 _"Informal observations revealed that the Stunticons_   _were unable to build social relationships with the clinicians, but selective members of the group_   _\- Namely Breakdown-_   _became wholly incapable of socialization when introduced to one-on-one therapy. Those that could maintain conversation rarely initiated any form of contact. None of the members of the_   _Stunticons regularly use appropriate facial expressions or gestures, but Breakdown showed_   _an extreme aversion to eye contact and being viewed. It should be noted that they were all able to understand and use abstract language, often building off each other's ideas_   _to create a singular point. This is most evident when introducing a new topic, as the Stunticons will frequently reference back to previous conversations and experiences to clarify their points."_  

He couldn't keep the distasteful frown off his faceplate. This file reeked of bias and the ' _formal knowledge'_ of someone who didn't give a flyin' frag about actually helping the Stunticons adjust. 

In the end, it didn't matter too much. He has done this long enough, he would figure it out on his own. He had their names- Motormaster, Drag Strip, Dead End, Wildrider, and Breakdown- and he would have the files from the previous six caretakers soon- one of which was one of _his_ boys. He smiled around his Cygar as the elevator jittered to a stop. Taking one last peek at the names, he stepped out as the elevator opened. When he glanced back up, he was met with five sets of optics, and Ratchet sitting calmly in the corner with his optics on a data packet.  

The tallest of the group- Motormaster, Kup recognized from battlefield footage- allowed his optics to fall to the file in his servos before a look of rage crossed his features. Kup just smiled, inhaling his Cygar with one hand as he threw the stack of informational papers into the nearby waste bin. From the look of shock in Motormaster's optics, he assumed the others lived by those notes.

The action seemed to surprise the group enough to silence whatever the leader of the Stunticons was about to say, so Kup filled the silence.  "Haio there. Ah'm Kup, an' Ah'll be takin' care of ya from now on. Care ta introduce yerselves?" 

The mecha exchanged interchangeable looks of confusion and shock, and Ratchet grinned as the shiny red one- Dead End- spoke first after several nanokilks of jaw-flapping silence. "Aren't you going to give us the speech?" Kup quirked a brow as he raised his Cygar to his lips. He allowed it to rest there as he spoke. "Ah ain't Prime- Ah don't  _do_ speeches. Unless ya want me to tell ya a story...  _then_ ah can give ya a speech." The mecha stepped closer together, but Kup couldn't tell if it was a subconscious action. 

"Aren't you going to tell us that if we behave, we'll be citizens, and live long boring lives till we die boring normal deaths?" Kup scoffed. "Ah don't believe in makin' promises for another mecha. You'll behave because yer good at spark- other mecha jus' don't know how to see it." 

Motormaster sneered as his armor ruffled threateningly. Nearby medics began prepping sedatives, but Ratchet waved them off. "Oh, and you fraggin' do? What makes you-" Kup cut him off with a chuckle. 

"Yeh. Ah do see it. Ah saw it in Ironhide, in Arcee, in Chromia-" He turned to Ratchet with a twinkle in his optics. "-Even wit' that'un." The Stunticons all glanced towards Ratchet, who hid his smile behind his datapad. "Yeh ain't  _bad_  cause yer different, and obviously tha' other mecha that tried to integrate ya did a leakin-lubricant line's wortha good explanin' tha'." The mecha remained in stunned silence, and Kup's grin fell to a fond smile as he removed the Cygar from his mouth to tap the ashen edge over the waste bin. Ratchet rolled his optics when the file began to smolder.  

"Yer gonna  _behave_  because that's gonna be the only option- if ya get upset, ah ain't gonna  _punish_ ya-" Motormaster snarled, stepping chest-to-chest with the older mech to cut him off once more in an attempt to seem threatening. "An what if I kill somebot? Huh? Whatcha gonna do?  _Not_ punish me?"  

Kup gently reached up to stroke his servos across the high cheekbone, smiling softly as the surprise overtook the semi's face once more. "Then ah'll  _discipline_ ya. An' you'll understan' why ah'm doin’ it, or ah ain' gonna waste the time. Punishmen' don'  _teach,_ a therefore it ain' useful."  

Motormaster's optics were wide as his servos clenched and unclenched at his sides. Kup patted the center of his chest. " Are ya ready ta go home?" Motormaster remained silent, and Kup scanned his optics over the group. He made a mental note of how Breakdown was using his fellow mecha as a shield- refusing to meet his optics.

Interesting.

"Aiite then. Wit' me."

* * *

 

They were surprisingly well behaved during the trip home. Wildrider only tried to chase mecha off the streets three times, and they only had to stop twice to retrieve Breakdown after he stalled in traffic. Kup assumed they were still in shock over how different this introduction was compared to all the others they had gotten- the file he was skimming over said none of those had gone well.

Motormaster was prone to lashing out when he or his fellow bots felt threatened- but never actually damaged any of his fellow Stunticons or caretakers. Just their property. A dent in a wall here, a punched door there... all easily fixed, but it was good to know it came from an attempt to regain control.

Drag Strip turned anything into a game. He needed chances to prove himself, and will often forgo refueling to try to win some internal one-ups-manship contest. He's been hospitalized several times for undiagnosed signs of 'anxiety', but it hasn't been confirmed. The biggest note he had was if he started twitching his servos or using his servos to fan himself, he needed to burn some energy before he started engaging in more self-destructive behavior.

Dead End was nothing more than a horrible pessimist, but held signs of clinical depression that made the old mech concerned. The end of his file just said,  **'DO NOT STARTLE'** \- bold and all.

Wildrider was more of a wild card. He seemed to bounce all over the spectrum, with no real identity to call his own. More often than not, he was the one that catered to his fellow combiners- he was the one to calm Motormaster, he was the one to challenge Drag Strip, he was the one pulling Dead End out of his depressive episodes... And he was the one to coddle Breakdown.

Breakdown was the interesting one. His file was short, but had the most information tucked inside- the mech was nearly non-verbal. He  _could_  talk, and would if he was forced to, but any form of contact with other mecha put his anxiety through the roof. If watched for too long, the poor mech would have a full mental meltdown and hide in the corner. There was a video file attached, showing the blue mech with his back to the wall, his helm in his servos as he rocked back and forth. At first, the audio almost sounded like sobs- but Kup quickly realized he was just clicking to himself in binary right up until his thumb found its way into his mouth and he exhausted himself into an emergency lockdown.

It broke Kup's spark right in two. He wished he had no idea where mech became this distraught and poorly adapted, but he had one. Megatron.

He wasn't the best sire-figure Cybertron ever raised, and he knew that his boys had walked on eggshells since they were first onlined. Motormaster had to fight for them all to survive. Drag Strip had to be competitive to ensure they weren't obsolete. Dead end had just... given up hope at some point. Wildrider was the best mentally, but hadn't had a chance to develop outside of the sporadic bursts of desperation due to some unlisted struggle. Breakdown has caved completely under the stress, and has likely had Soundwave watching over him for far too long.

Finally arriving home, Kup opened the door to them all. As they finally piled into the large flat that would serve as their new home- the entire middle level of an old building- and Drag Strip immediately became fascinated by Kup's photos. There were many of them on the walls- him with friends, family, old war buddies, mecha of power, you name it. On the opposing wall, there were ones with him and each of his sparklings- Ratchet, Ironhide, Arcee, Chromia, Rodimus, and even more the Stunticon didn't recognize. Breakdown squeezed Wildrider's servos tightly, and Kup pretended not to notice.  

"How 'bout we start wit' an introduction to the house, then we can all settle'n. The first an' only rule is: Don't leave withou' me knowin'. Anywher' in this building is a free game-  _any_ reas'n,  _any_  time. Ya can explore and use 't all." He purposefully shifted so his back was to Breakdown, and the near-silent keen of relief made him bite back a smile. The others didn't know how to react to the simplistic rules, so they remained in the stunned silence that they had held the entire ride home. 

As each room was introduced- kitchen, washrack, living room, and empty guest rooms that his other children used when they visited- Motormaster growled more and more. It was obvious the laid-back atmosphere was taunting his ability to cope. Time seemed to freeze with the Stunticons when he finally lashed out, smashing a nearby vase with his fist halfway through the intro to the study.  

Kup stared at the bits on the floor impassively as he took a long drag of his Cygar. "Careful where ya step. I'll clean tha' up in a bit."

His optics met the stunned yellow ones of the eldest Stunticon. That soft smile returned. "Try not'ta take yer frustrations out oh tha' artwork though. Thos' are a bit expensive."  

Breakdown released a shuddering breath when Kup turned his back once more, Motormaster was drug limply behind the group, his processor reeling far too hard to fight back. With the tour finishing up, he led them to  _their_  room- not plural. It was one, gigantic open space.

It was obvious that their room was once smaller- the paint didn't completely match from one area to the next, and the ceiling visibly dipped where it once hung much lower in the next room. Berths lined the wall, without headboards or footboards- perfect for pushing together into a mega-bed. "Figured ya'd not wanna be apart, so Ah had the room expanded. I'll make it look pretty when ah get a chance, 'f ya wanna keep sharin’ a room. Till then, this is  _yer_  room. Ah won't come in unless I absolutely needta, or if ah feel like one of ya are in danger. Is it aiite if ah stay an' talk ta ya for a bit, or do ya want some time ta get yer helms together?" 

The stunned silence was answer enough, and Kup nodded knowingly. It  _was_  a lot to take in after all, and he assumed he wouldn't get to know them until they had pulled themselves together.

"Mah room 's jus' down the hall. Last door on tha left. If ya need anythin’- at  _any_  time- come an' get me." He left with his Cygar in his teeth, puffing on it all the way back to the study. He heard the bedroom door automatically close behind him, and he silently swept up the remains from the vase.  

That nervous energy of Motormaster's was definitely the cause of many of his past outbursts. With time, that would be easily fixed- he would help him find ways to vent it properly. Until then, he would just put his more expensive possessions in storage. The few things with hefty value were put into boxes and taken to the attic... along with all the pictures from the walls. Breakdown had gotten exceptionally skittish when they entered the living room, and Kup had a theory that it wasn't just living, breathing mecha that upset the mech. 

So the mirrors came down too. 

* * *

 

When he woke up the next morning, he accidentally startled Dead End. The mech cowered with his back to the wall, spewing out apologies until he thought he could run past the teal pickup- only to shriek in surprise when he was caught and pulled into a hug. 

Kup could feel the way Dead End's spark hammered in his chest as withered servos stroked over the back of his helm. Kup muttered broken phrases of acceptance- 'it’s okay', 'you're fine', 'you didn't do anything wrong'- until the mech sagged in his arms, barely pressing his faceplate into Kup's neck cables as he reset from an overclocked engine.  

He didn't pay any mind to the shuffling behind him. They were nervous, but they didn't need him right now.

Kup allowed his field to fill with approval and love around the petrified mech as he rebooted. It was several seconds of utter peace as the younger mech drank in the feeling of Kup's field all around him, a quiet voice in his audial as he was rocked back and forth ever so slightly... until he realized what he was doing.

Kup allowed him to slowly scoot back, smiling softly and reassuringly even as the mech darted away- back into his shared room, with Motormaster, Drag Strip, and Wildrider close behind.

He saw how Drag Strip was flapping his servos, clenching and unclenching them as his optics darted around. Better set up a challenge then.

Kup smiled as he made himself a hot cup of Energon, setting up a tray with five cubes next to the dispenser while it heated. He piled all sorts of additives into the middle of the empty cubes, unsure of what his new boys preferred- knew they would figure it out themselves.  

He groaned quietly as he sat down to watch some TV, ignoring how his old joints were creaking louder than ever these days. He kept the volume on the entertainment center comfortably low- but more than loud enough where he knew his boys would hear it if they pressed their audials to the door.  

Two earth-comedies later and several fake-out pauses as he 'heard a noise', a triumphant Drag Strip slipped back into his room with a tray of room-temperature Energon.  

Kup didn't turn once during the grand escape, allowing his angle to hide his slight frown from view.

...Maybe he should buy an Energon warmer for their room.

* * *

 

The first week was a similar routine- wake up, accidentally scare Dead End on occasion, coddle him until he calmed, prepare Energon, then pretend not to see Drag Strip running about behind him in the screen of the holoprojector. Sometimes, he turned to catch the mech- had to keep it interesting, ya know. The mech always gave him a wild grin, immediately fleeing to their room like an overactive cat before trying again an hour later.

When the box with the new warmer arrived with 'STUNTICONS' stamped onto the box, he saw more than two of them out of their room at once for the first time since that initial scare. They had dragged it back with them, and the door remained closed for all of ten minutes.  

Kup pretended to be asleep while Drag Strip 'stole' extra Energon- two cubes for each of them.

* * *

 

 The next day, a dispenser of their own arrived.   

The hesitant Dead End appeared moments after the box was kidnapped, and he stood nervously in the hallway. Kup waited for several minutes before turning with a soft smile. 

The staring contest lasted for several seconds, but Dead End eventually offered the most hesitant smile he had ever seen. It was a shame he didn't smile more- he was adorable when he did.

Seconds after Dead End's retreat, an enraged roar sounded from Motormaster. There was a brief shout that sounded suspiciously like Wildrider before the mech charged into the living room, his servos clenched and death in his optics. 

Kup knew the Stunticon leader was surprised when  _he_  wound up on his back, sprawled over the couch. Kup was sitting beside him with a gentle servo stroking his helm. Kup made sure to keep his voice calm when he spoke. "And' wha' was that for?" 

Yellow optics narrowed at his caretaker. "You fraggin knew we were stealin' that extra Energon. How long till tha' enforcers show up!?" Kup patted the center of his chassis. "You haven' been stealin', Motormaster. I don't  _own_ Energon- You've always been welcome to get more if you  _wanted_ it... Same as the hallways. Ya remember yer all  _allowed_  out of yer room, right?"  

Optics dilated wide. Kup smiled again, his servos stroking his helm until his field turned more distraught then shocked. He could almost  _feel_  when the need for his brothers overtook the protective coding.

The old mech shifted, his hips creaking ominously as he picked up his extinguished Cygar, snuffing it out in the astray. He turned around when a rather loud  _thud_  came from the far wall, and he realized Motormaster was gone. 

He had left a new dent in the living room wall, too.

Ah well, he had an afternoon project now. 

* * *

 

The next day, Wildrider was the one to sneak out. Kup pretended not to see him crouched behind the couch as a human channel called 'Boomerang' played old cartoons. The mech stayed there for several kilks, watching a rabbit mess with a hunter. When he quietly started to giggle, Kup patted the sofa beside him. 

Wildrider stared at him for several seconds, but Kup just smiled. He stood- ignoring how Wildrider moved to the other end of the sofa- preparing two steaming hot cubes of Energon. One was sat beside the couch just before Kup claimed his spot once more. 

They watched several episodes in companionable silence, and Wildrider didn't even jump when Kup's unconscious helm slowly flopped back onto the cushion.

* * *

 

When Kup awoke from his spontaneous nap a few hours later, the warming blanket from his berth was stretched across his lap- and Wildrider was fast asleep beside him, his head on the cushion and his legs stretched out before him. Kup carefully covered the mech with the blanket, warming a cube of Energon- a wide smile overtaking him when he saw the old cups had been rinsed and left in the sink- and placing it on the coffee table before retiring for the night. 

He pulled an extra blanket from his closet, settling down with a lighthearted spark.

* * *

 

He couldn't help but laugh when he discovered the TV missing the next morning.

He couldn't bear to go in there to retrieve it from them- it was too funny!

So, less than an hour later, some of the younger delivery mecha from the shop down the street arrived with the new TV. Kup thanked the delivery bots for the speedy work, tipping them well and offering them a cube for the road. Sadly, they refused, but thanked him for the tip. 

They were good bots- born very soon after the war ended, and Kup was overjoyed there was now a generation that hadn't seen the pain of bloodshed.

When he closed the door behind them, he turned to see Breakdown's optic peeking from the barely-open berthroom door. He smiled softly, unsubspacing the remote to the old TV and holding it out. 

Breakdown's servos shook as he carefully took it, making sure that the least amount of his frame was visible as possible. He heard a cheer just after the door closed.  

* * *

 

The next month went rather uneventfully.

His boys rarely left their room, but he had ordered quite a few things that had gone missing around the house.

New lamps, more additives, a rug, and even more miscellaneous things- the most amusing were the  _blankets_.

He'd had so many go missing he ordered an industrial size box- just for them! And  _still_  his went missing! He couldn't help but wonder what they were doing with them, but he had made them a promise. He wouldn't go into their room without good reason. While they may not adjust well in a peaceful society, they were onlined as adults and deserved that small bit of basic respect. 

That little bit went a  _long_ way. 

It had all come to a head when social workers came to 'collect' his boys- they decided they didn't  _need_  to be called, as no one _else_  had managed more than two lunar cycles with the rowdy group.

Kup was certain he had frightened his boys when he started yelling at the mecha, spitting insults when they had tried to brush him aside- to pull him out of his  _own home_  so they could intrude and take  _his boys!_

Prowl-sadly not one his children, but the mate of Jazz (who was)- had been a darling and handled the legal consequences of punching a mech in the faceplate. That reminds him, he should call and see how the Constructicons are settling in...

But anyway.

That had been _three orns_  ago.

With each morning he awoke to find his living room devoid of signs of his boys.

No empty cubes on the table or in the sink, no Wildrider curled up under Kup's old blanket while Bugs Bunny played in the background, no nothing.

He knew nothing he said or did could coax their newfound fear out of them. It would take time- restarting from scratch to show he would never hurt them like he had hurt that mech. 

Hopefully, the tongue-lashing he had given the committee would leave a mark about traumatizing mech that had  _just_  settled into their new home. 

The part he was most worried about was today.  _His_  first day back on duty.  _Their_  first day all alone. 

He knew in his spark that they would be fine, but he worried that they would feel abandoned. He sighed as he fixed his Energon- room temperature this time, as he had overslept slightly and was now pressed for time. He wrote out a note to put on the additives counter, hoping they would find it.

After a second of deliberation, he wrote another to put on the front door.

Just in case. 

He locked the house tight when he left, and started thinking if his boys would enjoy goodies from the confectioners by the security depot... Ironhide had housed them for a while, maybe he would know.

* * *

 

His shift was long and boring.

He was so tempted to call home countless times, but he knew his boys wouldn't answer. Not yet. 

Almost like magic, Ironhide had invited him to lunch during mid-shift.

It was good to see one of his eldest again. The mech had extended his invitation to celebrate his first day back at work, but the conversation barely touched the topic of shifts. 

They talked about his newest boys.

Kup told him of all his progress, and Ironhide's jaw dropped when he mentioned how Wildrider would watch cartoons with him until they fell asleep. 

The look of happiness and knowing pride fell when Kup told him of how the social working mecha ruined it. Ironhide leant back against his seat with a disgusted face. "For fuckin real? Ah wouldda shotta mech for that." 

Kup poorly suppressed a grin. "Now youngin', we've talked 'bout yer aggressive streak." A surprised look flashed through his optics before he turned slightly sheepish. "Sorry sire. Ah'm still workin' on it." 

Kup gently patted his cheek. "Ah know. Ah'mma try some tricks Ah used on you wit' Motormaster." Ironhide chuckled, nuzzling into the servo before it returned to the table. "Ev'n though ah wasn't a good caretaker ta 'em, M' always available ta help burn off some energy."

Kup smiled, nodding his approval. "M'ght be good fer himta have a friend." Ironhide shrugged. "Maybe we'll a'tually get 'long without tha' pressure. Ah can help ya wheedle Prowl fer some time out in tha wastelands. Maybe we can get'em a daily permit ta combine?"

Kup's optics lit up. He knew just the mech for the job.

* * *

 

He and Ironhide parted on a happy note, their jobs divided between them and a game plan in motion.

Just before they parted Kup remembered the sweets, and thankfully his troublemaker remembered what the general taste for each of his new mecha were.

He had even offered to pay half of the huge box of mixed goodies before heading home, but Kup had refused with an offer to consider it next time and an invitation to dinner sometime. Watching the Top Kick drive away made a nostalgic feeling rise in his spark at how far Ironhide had come since he picked up that little ruffian at Tyger Pax' institution.

The only downside to the treats was that he had to set them down to unlock the door. He used his hip to keep the door propped as he picked it back up, absently studying the embellished packaging as he stepped over the threshold.  _Hopefully_ they would enjoy them. He'd gotten an assortment though, just in case. 

With his attention on the box, he had nearly tripped on Wildrider. 

His faceplate broke into a wide grin when transparent lenses shifted from the box to his face. "What's in the box?"

He had barely gotten the word 'sweets' out before Wildrider gasped, immediately bolting off towards their room. Kup laughed wholeheartedly, setting the box down on the coffee table as he moved to make his evening Energon. He nearly dropped his cup when he turned to see Motormaster's challenging optics glaring from the other end of the table, already clewing as Dead End, Drag Strip, and Wildrider all began stuffing candies into their mouths.

Every now and then, Wildrider's servos would dip out of view to burrow into the pile of blankets they had brought with them, and Kup smiled. 

At least they were saving  _some_  for Breakdown. If only the mech would come out to join them... oh well.

He let them do as they pleased as he sat on the sofa, turning on the TV to the usual cartoons.

When the blankets suddenly shifted on their own about forty kilks later, Kup was surprised.

A blue and white servo blindly groped around for another candy, and Wildrider eagerly passed Breakdown one as he snuggled up beside his combiner-based brother. With the candies gone without a trace, the blankets ceased movement.

An hour later, he  _almost_  regretted giving Wildrider and Drag Strip copper rushes, but watching the two chase each other around the house filled his old spark with a joy he hadn't felt in a long time.

Besides, watching Motormaster hit a food coma was probably the cutest thing he had ever seen. The mech wound up leaning against his leg, his engine purring quietly as Kup covered him with the now-designated 'living room blanket'. After he had hit the point of more calm than nervous, Kup allowed his servos to gently caress the mech’s helm.

Motormaster was nearly asleep when Wildrider paused the chase to bring Breakdown a cube- only for the mech to spill it on accident. The mild panic that followed had Kup rising quickly, trying not to encourage Dead End's terrified face as he scrambled into a corner. Kup gently pulled the blanket off Breakdown's frame, which was curled up and clicking without looking at Kup.

Kup simply used the blanket to mop up the Energon before anyone was injured. He pulled the backup blanket off the top shelf of the bookcase, effortlessly covering Breakdown with it before he took the soiled blankets to the washroom. When he returned, the panic screeched to a stunned halt.

Kup had retrieved one of the old feeding bottles from the time he had fostered a sparkling, filled it with Energon, then passed it to Breakdown under the blanket. 

The teal servo lightly stroked over where his helm should be as he settled back onto the couch, turning the TV back up.

For the first time, none of his boys retreated into their room.

Steadily, over the next three hours, they crowded around him to leech warmth and curl around Breakdown.

It was so ridiculously easy to fall asleep, surrounded by his boys and the quiet sounds of Breakdown slowly sipping his bottle.

* * *

 

When he woke several hours later, the mass and the blankets were pressed against his side, with the others scattered somewhere nearby and pressed against either his legs or resting on each other's frames. One of the many blankets retrieved from their room had been thrown over his frame, and there was a strange wetness on his servo.

Kup carefully lifted the blanket to check on Breakdown, thinking the mech had broken the bottle and harmed himself. Instead, he was met with the utterly peaceful face of a sleeping mech, with a teal thumb pulled into his mouth. Stroking over the orange faceplate, he tried to pull his thumb away, but gave up when teeth lightly closed around the joint. Instead, he lowered the covers and settled back in. One night on the couch shouldn't hurt too much, and he had tomorrow off.

* * *

 

Motormaster watched Kup's movements silently, his optics barely lit with years of feigning sleep around Megatron behind him. When the old mech absently stroked over his helm, he couldn't help but relax under the soft touch.

* * *

 

When he had to remind them of the one vorn checkup in a month, the Stunticons were surprised. Wildrider sheepishly admitted that it hadn't felt that long. Breakdown pressed himself closer to Kup's side- that meant he would have to work on going outside...

* * *

 

Kup had told them of his ongoing-planning the night before their court appearance, while they were all piled up together watching TV. 

Breakdown was curled into his side, his thumb in his mouth and a warmed bottle clutched in his free servo. His frame was entirely covered by the oversized blanket Kup had bought with his first big check, nested so only his optics were visible, trained on the screen at the far end of the room. He really liked cooking shows, and was slowly becoming more comfortable with making quick trips down the street for random ingredients Kup needed for meals.

Motormaster was in the floor between Kup's knees, his helm lulled lazily against one of his lower thighs as his knees swayed softly to the intro to the show. He had mellowed out a lot. While he still had some outbursts, he was getting better at explaining why he was upset. He hadn't broken or damaged anything in three months, but there _had_ been two tantrums.

The other three were doing laps around the house, playing keep-away with one of the many trinkets Kup had purchased.

He called them all together, laughing as Wildrider vaulted over the edge of the couch to snuggle into Breakdown's unoccupied side. The mech gurgled his disapproval, but settled back in easily enough with claw-like nails kneading the couch padding by Kup's knee. The bottle was cooling rapidly by his thigh- he'd have to make another before they retired for the night.

Dragstrip and Dead End took their places beside Motormaster, but the happy mood settled slightly when Kup gently pulled the covers back to reveal the top part of Breakdown's face. It was the unofficial symbol of 'serious talk time.'

"Ya all rememb'r that tomorrow's tha one-vorn anniversary of ya comin’ ta live wit' meh, right?" Motormaster groaned his disapproval of the unmentioned court appearance, but Kup silenced him with a soft stroke to his helm.

“Well, ya’ve all been so good so far, Ah’ve decided we’re gonna go on a lil’ field trip after yer checkup.” Drag Strip perked up like an excited puppy. His excitement bled into Dead End- as it usually did nowadays- and the two were nearly vibrating when he finally got his thumb out of Breakdown’s mouth.

“Prowler got us clearance ta’ go out ta the wastelands so ya can combine and stretch. Ironhide's gonna meet us an' give ya somethin' ta chase.” Kup grinned when the two most excitable squealed. While Ironhide hadn't been the best fit as a caretaker, he was fantastic as an older brother. So fantastic, in fact, two of the guest rooms were permanently reformatted into a wrestling area.

When the zoomies started anew, Kup shook his head and covered Breakdown’s faceplate. Motormaster grinned as he stood, retrieving one of the bottles from the fridge and warming it.

He was doing little things for Kup more and more these days-his inbuilt overprotectiveness was extending to Kup as his joints continued to deteriorate. If things kept going as they were, he might run out of excuses to feed Ratchet and have to  _actually_  go in for the overhaul. 

Kup took the bottle with a grateful smile, holding it with one servo so Breakdown could watch TV, eat, and remain hidden all at the same time. 

With the soft purring of engines around him and a clatter of running pedes bolting from room to room, Kup knew he had done well.

 _Everything_ was perfect.

Now, If only he could convince Breakdown to agree to a group picture.

**Author's Note:**

> Overall, this was super fun to write! I've never done a dedicated snippet piece, and it was certainly it's own beast.


End file.
